<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Dragula by rap_ture</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496626">Dragula</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rap_ture/pseuds/rap_ture'>rap_ture</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Everyman HYBRID, Slender Man Mythos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gore, Violence, it's pretty explicit but also i tried not to go too insane, underlying tones of oh you know</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:54:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,188</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rap_ture/pseuds/rap_ture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yours, Stephie! Besides, don'tcha wanna test it out? Make sure it's all sharp and perfect, just for you?" </p><p>     She immediately backed up in defense, her hands held up. HABIT didn't stalk closer but only tapped the blade against the doorframe. His face was unreadable; it was bathed in darkness. "No, I don't — no, how about —" And an idea flashed through her mind, so quickly that it made her blink silently. Her sentence trailed off as she mulled over the idea, mushed it around as if it was clay, turning it into something more that she came to enjoy. Then she kept her eyes trained on HABIT's face, her expression unreadable. "Try it on yourself."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>HABIT &amp; Stephanie (Everyman HYBRID)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dragula</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was based off of a roleplay that i did uhhh i'm going to add a trigger warning here for explicit violence up ahead! a lot of cutting, some blood licking stuff, the goods. this was more for fun and because the roleplay was fun than like, actual canon stuff imo. anyways besides the point, if you guys ever want to request something for me (preferably slenderverse related, i haven't watched mla0 sorry!) then i don't mind writing it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     It was stupid of her to hope for the best — she had even taught herself, unfortunately, at a young enough age that wishful thinking didn't help her; however, it was something she still found herself doing multiple times. Maybe it was the more childish, optimistic part of her — despite being tiny, it frequently bit away at her more realistic approach towards situations; maybe it had to do with Evan. More than once, he'd lean over towards her and tell her, "things will be okay in the end, just be patient." But patience wasn't her virtue.<br/>
<br/>
     And when she did find herself desperately hoping for the best, things would always come crashing upon her so violently it'd make her head swim. She doesn't understand why she'd allow herself to continously fall into a pattern of being destroyed over and over again — either fall into the realistic outlook and accept that HABIT would never give her the happy ending she craved, or hope for the best . . . and get ran over in the process. She should've noticed the pattern — pattern being whenever Evan was allowed in control and when HABIT was. HABIT usually <em>never </em>was lenient with Evan being in control; and maybe that's why Damsel had found herself beginning to get hopeful of things; Evan had stayed around for two days longer than usual, four days altogether. <br/>
<br/>
     The two of them had begun a schedule already through the four days they remained together — and their days always ended with the two of them intertwining in bed, ready to sleep and begin another day. Each day Damsel had found herself worrying immensely, anxiety tearing at her insides, before she even opened her eyes — what if she had opened them and gazed into HABIT's eyes instead, who would be awaiting her with an awful grin? But then when her eyes <em>did </em>open, albeit nervously, she simply saw Evan, who would be deeply sleeping and faced towards her, as if he hadn't move throughout the night. It was her fault she allowed herself to be so . . . <em>happy</em> about things. After all, what had happened the last time?<br/>
<br/>
     She <em>knew</em> when she had opened her eyes and saw that he wasn't there. Evan had always stayed in bed with Damsel, even if she wasn't awake — simply to stay around her and cherish the little amount of time they had together. And yet, his side was gone. She gave his side a nervous, somewhat distasteful look the longer she stayed in bed, the comforter wrapped around her shoulders. <br/>
<br/>
     She didn't get to interact with HABIT until much, much later, thankfully — she had spent most of her day in her room, as usual. Her sudden disappearance after HABIT's . . . well, could it really be dubbed as anything <em>other</em> than a temper tantrum? — had lasted for about a few weeks, where she had spent hotel-hopping. It was surprising she was even allowed to be out, away from HABIT (was she really away from in general? He had haunted her dreams so much it was as if he was there, living and breathing) — but she knew it would be only a matter of days before she was forced to return. She only had so much cash on her — and she was running out of excuses on why she was spending so long at a hotel and with a camera (she already had a feeling that her neighbors at her latest hotel had assumed she was a cam-girl). <br/>
<br/>
     And at the hotels, it was <em>silent</em>. <br/>
<br/>
     So, it had been weeks since she had gotten to see HABIT — since she's returned, Evan was around. And now . . . and now —<br/>
<br/>
     "<em>Damselll</em>, you've returned? Finally!" His voice called out to her obnoxiously, her name sung in a mocking lilt. She didn't move; didn't even tilt her head to acknowledge him. Her scowl grew, deepened, and blew the bangs out from her eyes. <br/>
<br/>
     "Not that it was something I wanted to do." <br/>
<br/>
     "Well that's hurtful, don'tcha think? Wouldn't you have missed Evan? That's why you came back, right?" Steps sounded closer to her until they stopped behind her, his shadow falling over the wall ahead of her. She slowly turned only to see HABIT's shin and then, eventually, she slowly glanced up at his body and at his face, who was happily peering down at her. "Or was it because you didn't want to leave him to <em>me</em>? Too late for that." His face was split in a wide grin, eyes lit up in malevolent joviality.<br/>
<br/>
     "Oh no, you've caught me. What the fuck do you want?" <br/>
<br/>
     "Aw, I've missed that little feistiness! I've <em>waited</em> for you, Stephie. I waited so long for you return — it's lonely without you here." Then HABIT began bursting out in obnoxious laughter, waving his hand around — then he squatted down low, face to face with Damsel. She fixated him with an intense glare, leaning her head back as if to back away from his very self. "Besides the point! Got <em>you</em> a little gift." <br/>
<br/>
     "I don't want it." <br/>
<br/>
     "<em>You</em> don't have a fuckin' choice! C'mon, come see it. You can either come along on your own free will <em>or</em> I can drag you by the hair." He rubbed his hands together and pulled himself up, watching Damsel with an amused expression, eyebrow arched. Damsel stayed there for a moment, watching him, as if she was truly debating her options — it wasn't legitimate thinking, it was more to fuck with him, maybe poke a little at his anger, something she did quite frequently. But then HABIT had reached down with his hand as if to snatch at her and she quickly ducked the other way and stood up, giving him a haughty look. She could tell by the quick lapse in his face how he wanted to knock that look off her face.<br/>
<br/>
     Then he begun to led her to a familiar path, one towards the attic — and it made her insides tighten up considerably, painfully — she had <em>never</em> been taken in that attic only other to witness HABIT's crimes against innocent civilians — how he'd slaughtered them without care. And how she had watched. How she was <em>forced</em> to (was she really, truly forced? Could she say anything against HABIT's word? And if she did, if he were to kill her, would she simply come back like Evan?) watch. Eventually he opened the door with some force, since the door seemed to fuck up more frequently because of how Damsel would slam it, and gestured for her to come inside. <br/>
<br/>
     It was <em>dark</em>. The only light that was illuminating it was from the other room — the room begun brightly, dancing with shadows and then ended in complete darkness. She couldn't see anything inside, really, not the silly plastic chair or even the dried blood stains that painted the floor with it's different stories. "Where the fuck is the gift?" She questioned, peeking around the room while anxiety begun to brim in her stomach more fiercely, more violently. She debated if it really was worth it trying to run away from HABIT — she could always leap down the stairs, hide out in Evan's room (now, technically it <em>was</em> HABIT's but it's not as if he slept in there OR really used it) if she really wanted. HABIT would burst down the door easily and fuck her up, but a fight was always a fight, nonetheless. It was not in her nature to give up. <br/>
<br/>
     "<em>What</em> the fuck is the gift, more to be exact! Thought you woud be <em>all</em> for it." HABIT said casually, unsheathing a knife that settled around on his hip — it was long, extremely pointy at the end, and had a wooden handle — it was brand new too, she noticed. She remembered all of Evan's knives and this — HABIT had went out and stole (buying was never an option) this on his own initiative. But there was always some type of underlying malevolent reason on why this was bought; maybe he was planning on "breaking it out" by using it on <em>her</em>. <br/>
<br/>
     "I don't want it." Was all she said, folding her arms defiantly over her chest, giving both the knife and HABIT a nervous look. The look didn't remain long; only for a split second and it was quickly replaced by a more indifferent expression. <br/>
<br/>
      "<em>What.</em>" HABIT's eyebrows raised for a second in disbelief, thumbing his fingers over the handle gently. "Like I said, you don't have a choice. It's <em>yours.</em> You'll need it!" <br/>
<br/>
     "I just use Evan's, why do I need —"<br/>
<br/>
     "<em>Yours, Stephie!</em> Besides, don'tcha wanna test it out? Make sure it's all sharp and perfect, just for you?" <br/>
<br/>
     She immediately backed up in defense, her hands held up. HABIT didn't stalk closer but only tapped the blade against the doorframe. His face was unreadable; it was bathed in darkness. "No, I don't — no, how about —" And an idea flashed through her mind, so quickly that it made her blink silently. Her sentence trailed off as she mulled over the idea, mushed it around as if it was clay, turning it into something more that she came to enjoy. Then she kept her eyes trained on HABIT's face, her expression unreadable. "Try it on yourself." <br/>
<br/>
     HABIT's head tilted, the knife turning on himself, the blade tenderly poking at his torso. She watched with wide eyes before making a beckoning gesture, curling her index finger — and he had responded almost immediately, slinking towards her until they were a bit closer. She could read his face now, seeing him grin once again, as if he was excited by this new situation. Maybe he was predicting this, maybe he was taken completely away — she didn't know. "Where do you want it, Stephie?" <br/>
<br/>
     "In your neck." <br/>
<br/>
     And he did what she didn't think he'd do — he plunged the knife into his throat, right at the front, and blood immediately gushed out wildly, the gushing beginning as an aggressive spray outwards and then dying down to a slow trickle. HABIT didn't flinch, didn't even react to the wound; he just stared intensely at Damsel, almost as if he was awaiting for what was next. And she didn't know what else she was ready to ask him to do — she simply watched his throat, the blood, the knife dug inside it. She stepped closer, running a finger along the blade until it went into the skin. <br/>
<br/>
     "Aren't you just a little somethin' else, Damsel? What else is it that you want? <em>I</em> know you want more. Well?" There was something odd in HABIT's rone, a briefly undetected lisp that wasn't there in the first place, she could remember that sharply — and then she had finally looked up at his face. It was as if the knife had triggered an entirely different reaction within HABIT — his teeth grew, sharpened, they bared almost in a half sign of aggression and amusement. <br/>
<br/>
     "You have a lisp." She commented blankly, fixating her gaze on his teeth, which she was sure was sharper than her knife. For a second, she almost wanted to test that theory out, let him bite into something.<br/>
<br/>
     "Mhm? Do I?" <br/>
<br/>
     "You're into this, <em>aren't</em> you? You like this, you —" <br/>
<br/>
     "Oh, of course! <em>I</em> even brought it to a better spot, <em>just </em>for you. Go on." He grinned lazily at her, his head angled to the side.<br/>
<br/>
     She went quiet, looking at the blade that tempted her immensely — it remained poised at his navel, his shirt in the way — maybe she could ask him to take it off, or she could cut it open with the knife, test it through material. That is what he wants, right? And, in a way, somewhere deep within her mind and somewhere she'd refuse to ever admit, she'd want to test it out on him too. So she dutifully wrapped her fingers around HABIT's hands on the handle and she pressed the blade within his stomach, pressing <em>hard</em>, getting minimal help from him — and it dug deep within his gut, right through organs, she sensed. It made her hands shake but also gave her mind an exhilaration she hadn't felt in a while.<br/>
<br/>
     "You're letting me do this," she spoke as calmly as she could without her voice shaking, her eyes watching the blood spill from around the knife embedded in his gut — it was memorizing almost. Her finger dipped into his blood quickly and she glanced at the tip of her finger, at the blood droplets, almost as if she was expecting it to be different because it was HABIT in control. She thought about this situation while she gazed at her finger. She wasn't necessarily worried about Evan, since his body couldn't seem to ever really <em>truly </em>die — it was as if fate had glued his limbs together and even if they dropped, were torn apart, fate would piece him back together. Maybe she was a bit worried about how'd he view this but she noticed, surprisingly, she wasn't really thinking about him or how he felt about this.<br/>
<br/>
     She found herself more exhilarated, more <em>excited </em>by this than anxious — the anxiety from before edged away slowly, evaporating into nothingness. To be the one wielding the knife, to be the one in power, even if it was temporary or even if she wasn't truly the one in charge — it was a rush she didn't know she could really experience before. HABIT let his hand drop away from the knife, effectively startling her out of her thoughts. <br/>
<br/>
     "Go on, Stephanie, open the prize box. <em>See what's inside.</em>" His voice had deepened into something more primal, more — <em>evil</em>. His breathing had turned into something slow but his chest heaved with every inhale and exhale, she noted — she flicked her eyes up from his chest to his face back down to the knife. <br/>
<br/>
     "Lay down," she waited for a moment, and then, trying to keep her voice authoritative, "<em>Now.</em>" <br/>
<br/>
     HABIT had scoffed in amusement at that but nevertheless, he begun ro lay down slowly, hiking his shirt up to his chest. "Stephie, you've got me <em>so</em> excited with this, it's hard for me to fuckin' lay down, you've got my poor little knees shaking." <br/>
<br/>
    "Shut the fuck up. Shut up," she finished her sentence more softly, moving her way towards HABIT, brushing against his right thigh. Then, slowly, she's grasping the handle tightly and pushing it through HABIT's torso, watching as his skin splits open and reveals the fucking mess of guts underneath the layer — she looks away but continues to push the knife through until she stops, stops right in the middle of his torso. <br/>
<br/>
     "Shit, look at <em>this.</em> Check it out." HABIT, without any hesitation, stuck his hand inside the long gash, his hand moving around freely — Damsel watched in sick fascination until she saw the bulge of his hand against the skin and bile rose up through her throat and she had to look away again, squeezing her eyes shut. <br/>
<br/>
     It takes a moment before she slowly looks back, adjusting her glasses and staring down at him with a mixed expression. And, without any hesitation this time, she stuck her hand right into the gash (where HABIT's hand had left, simply resting on his chest, leaving a soiled mark on his shirt) and felt around in his insides, the squishy texture making her shudder intensely. HABIT sighed softly, propping himself loosely on his elbows, and he watched Damsel's hand with lidded eyes — and then his eyes snapped up to her face. <br/>
<br/>
     The words were out before she could even think. "Do this to me. Do — test it on me. Don't do it as deep as I did — but —"<br/>
<br/>
    HABIT's fingers had curled into the ground, grasping for strength, trying to keep himself from simply grabbing Damsel, throwing her off of him and settlimg on top of her and ripping her apart. Give her what she really wanted this time. But he remained still, kept himself back, trying to keep any shred of self-control there. "Get off. Take your shirt off or let it get fuckin' ruined it, I don't care. Lay back."<br/>
<br/>
     Damsel immediately scooted back, paused for a moment and then sheepishly lifted the shirt up and off of her torso, laying back against the ground — against the blood-stained ground, she remembered with a pit growing deep in her stomach and all of the sudden, it was hard to stomach this exact situation — but she remained laying there, settling her hands on top of her chest. It was cold; the air was biting away at her exposed skin and she spotted the goosebumps rippling up and down her arms. <br/>
<br/>
     HABIT finally loomed over her, straddling her lap, and gazing down at her abdomen with an unreadable look. The knife had been yanked out from his torso and blood had dripped continuously over Damsel's own body, staining her jeans, staining her abdomen, bloodying her before anything could even <em>happen</em> — the stark contrast between the white and the red was blinding for her. And then, almost tenderly, HABIT began cutting. He started the blade over her ribcage and cut thin, shallow lines beneath each bone and then went over to the other side of her ribcage and continued there, in utmost concentration. <br/>
<br/>
     The sting had hurt initially and she hissed for the first few cuts that HABIT inflicted — but it wasn't the worst pain she felt and she had gotten accustomed to the sting more quickly than she assumed she ever would be able to. In fact — in a way, it felt completely fine, despite the pain. She found herself watching him closely, watching how he would linger after each cut to look at how the blood would slowly seep from the cut and cascade down her stomach — and, without warning, he dipped his tongue along the slow path of blood down and <em>licked </em>right up, grinning afterwards. <br/>
<br/>
     "Don't ever fucking do that again." She stated sternly, grasping him by the jaw and forcing him to lean away from her torso. He allowed her to move away, staying away from her body altogether too, but it didn't stop him from eyeing the cuts as if he was a hungry fucking animal. She ignored his look and slowly sat up, watching as the blood spilled onto her pants and further stained them, hazily looking at HABIT's own torso, looking at how it almost appeared how his organs were ready to spill out of the gash — Damsel felt bile rise more aggressively up her throat again and she <em>had</em> to look away, covering her mouth. "Don't move around, you're gonna — your organs are gonna —"<br/>
<br/>
     "What, they're gonna slip out? What's the issue with that, it can be like a little slip n' slide for them! You can eat them right from the source, it'd be fuckin' amazing!" He laughed hysterically, purposely jolting around quickly so that her worst fear <em>did</em> occur — his organs spilled freely from the gash, sliding onto the ground beneath him and his laughter went harder, became more multi-toned and tinged with a bone-deep growl — she did what she was used to doing. She ran. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>